right where you left me

Having Frank pointing out what should have been an integral detail when planning the meeting considering its purpose did make her feel somewhat foolish, but she got over that quickly, Henriette was all about solutions now, after all. That was what motherhood did to someone, even if her child might not be around for a while. Maybe it was better that way, at least until she had a better understanding of everything going on around her. 

“We have a backyard, it might be better suited for that?” she offered. People might see what they were doing, that was a given, but the woman was confident that it wouldn’t be considered anything out of the ordinary. “I’m assuming you are able to come up with some obstacles of your own? We have magic at our disposal. It shouldn’t be that complicated.”

Either way, she would follow instructions for once,

—

Frank, too, had a backyard. If the Abbotts were anything like Augusta Longbottom, the backyard would be perfectly manicured, without a flower out of place. It was not where Frank had trained to be an Auror—most crimes happened where there were narrow streets and long hallways, always something in the way. Frank preferred to dodge; other people in the Department of Law Enforcement who liked to use more explosive methods.

“I guess we can summon a couple of things to make a bit of an obstacle course. Things you might see in Diagon Alley, maybe? Or transfigure some patio furniture, if you had that?” Now Frank was really thinking—something that most people aren’t ready for is the idea of pointing a wand at someone, not when they had long stopped taking courses in Defense Against the Dark Arts. But even then, courses like those didn’t tell you to train against people, of all things.

Maybe it would be wise to invite Henriette to his place—not that he and Alice had a backyard in their little cottage, though a change in scenery might help. He followed her to the backyard.

“Do you have any defensive spells around the house?” It was an afterthought, something that he realized might have been missing from that past-though-not-really-past life he had. “Maybe an anti-Apparition charm?”

“Obviously its hexed or charmed or something.” She retorted, because the idea that they couldn’t get it open because of a simple mechanical reason was unacceptable. So long as they managed to get inside eventually she could live with it, but the idea of letting everyone else down when everything had been running so smoothly was hard to stomach. “Maybe another protection we didn’t know about? I’ve tried the basics but I hoped you’d know more - surely you have to break in places all the time.” Marlene didn’t actually know if he and Alice did that in their work as aurors, but at this point Marls didn’t have any other options.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know which? I’m not a door expert. We put the key in, tried to twist and it just won’t budge. I’d assume its just supposed to keep us out. I think an alarm system would have gone off already if it were going to - I tried physical force and to open it magically a few different ways. Well, Snape mainly tried that. I thought the lock might be jammed, wiggled the key all around and… well basically we’ve tried everything that might’ve set off the alarm.”

As she spoke she kept a quick pace back towards the door, not wanting to be caught out here. They’d already been sneaking around for too long and the last thing they needed was to be caught up in a duel with some guards. 

—

Frank’s face scrunched at Marlene’s emphasis on obviously, because it just… looked like a door. But charmed or hexed doors looked like doors that *weren’t charmed or hexed either, so who was he to know? It seemed unlikely that this was something they didn’t know about—but on the other hand, even the most rigorous of research before a mission could mean something would turn up that they didn’t expect.

What the hell did Marlene think they did as Aurors? “Yeah, but we have warrants,” Frank explained through gritted teeth. “Probable cause and all that.”

He bit back his comment about what they could possibly teach at Hogwarts that Marlene didn’t know this, because he was an Auror and he probably did break into people’s homes more regularly than a typical wix, even if those instances were sporadic.

He tried for some humor as he wave his wand to cast a few charms—probably the same ones they had already done, but he couldn’t trust that maybe it hadn’t been done right to begin with. Not because of Marlene really, but… she was younger, inexperienced, and maybe she and Snape had done something to fuck with the door worse than just… using the fucking key. “Do door experts even exist?”

But she had a point about the alarms going off, and the key doing the opposite of what a key does. Frank had finished his check of charms, even with the supposedly “advanced” counter-hexes he could think of from the last time they had to save someone from a cursed piece of furniture they had bought secondhand from a shady salesman from Knockturn Alley.

And if the alarms hadn’t actually alerted anyone...

Frank shoved the key—the correct side, with the teeth against the tumblers, because he had to make sure they weren’t putting the wrong end in on accident somehow—into the lock. With one hand on his wand, he applied a charm that tried to turn and pry the key, adding torque to the metal with more brute force than they had probably done.

Gideon had heard about Frank’s fate after the war and he had to admit he would embrace his own death before taking on the fate of his best friend. He hoped Amelia was right about changing how things happened. He hoped Frank would escape his fate and that they would grow old and stay friends for the rest of their days. 

He listened to Frank speak looking over him as tried to see if anything was physically wrong with him. He felt as if his friend was trying to decipher if he had kept his memories as well and well he trusted Frank more than anyone so of course he would open up to him. “You haven’t seen me in years. I was dead you know. I have memories back too. I was dead and now I’m back we can talk about it. I know that’s what you’re getting at.”

—

“What?”

Frank’s voice went quiet like he didn’t want to disturb how the whole world went still. He looked at his best friend, studying him; Gideon was very much the opposite of dead. What was there to talk about? I was dead, but now I’m back—

“Back from where?” Frank asked, not because he didn’t hear that Gideon had died, but it just… sounded like death was a place, and not a state of being. It felt like such a silly question to ask, but if they were going to be candid about it… he wasn’t going to lie to Gideon, and it would hurt him to withhold anything from him. But he couldn’t settle, as if the clothes he had didn’t fit right.

He never thought he’d have to ask anyone how they died, as if this were some interview in some underworld/afterlife, or ghosts lingering at Hogwarts introducing themselves in this eternal small talk.

When: 14 February 1979 Where: Valentine’s Day Ball Who: @frankdavis–longbottom​

How could they not open a door? Marlene and Severus had been entrusted with such a vital, yet simple, part of the plan and they still couldn’t do it. Marlene was frustrated and angry at her own failures, wiggling the key in the door once more before kicking it and swearing loudly. They were trying to be quiet, but she couldn’t help it. All the build up and planning for this moment and now the door was jammed shut. She knew that Alice and Frank couldn’t have gotten far, and so after informing Severus she ran back down the corridor that they’d walk down hoping they would be able to help. They were Aurors. They surely knew more spells to crack into locked doors than she and Severus did. Her brut force method of simply trying to jam the key in hadn’t work and even when she’d left Severus to it the door remained firmly closed.

“Frank!” She called when she spotted him. Slowing down her run into a jog and eventually catching up with him. Merlin, her feet hurt. “Come back and help us, we can’t get the bloody door open.” It was humiliating asking for his help on such a simple task, but she trusted Frank not to blame her. Or that’s what she hoped.

—

Frank could pretend to have a good time. He and Alice had considered their tasks for the evening finished, though that didn’t bridge the gap between them. In a way, she was the last person he wanted to talk to about their memories; it meant having to face them, to accept the truth that they had lost their son. He couldn’t be sure what was worse: that, or losing himself—

Whatever he was thinking was interrupted by footsteps behind him and his name being called. He reached for his wand, but only brushed the lapel of his coat when he realized it was Marlene catching up to him.

In a way he was grateful for this distraction, if only because it meant that he could avoid being with Alice for too long. Even with how jovial the party was, silence was still silence. A part of him wanted to keep it that way, and he turned on his heel before Marlene could explain further.

“Are you sure that the door’s not hexed or charmed?” Frank asked, trying to wrack his brain for all the ways this could go wrong. There were a few countercurses that he thought through, but not any that could really unlock a door without its key. “Aside from the typical precautions—do you think it’s just meant to keep people out, or would it actually fuck us up if it figures out we’re not supposed to be there?”

When: March 1979 Where: Abbott Residency With who: @frankdavis–longbottom​

“Thanks again for agreeing to do this,” Henriette told him as she walked him through the house and led him into a small reception area where two armchairs were placed, a coffee table set between them. Not the best of places to train by a long shot but the least conspicuous. Eric wouldn’t be home until hours later and she figured that it would be easier not to tell him about her plans at the moment. The last time she had done that, well, that was the moment where things started going south; because she had let him convince her to stay safe instead of putting up a fight. She didn’t blame him, she couldn’t. Every choice he had made back then— every choice they had made was out of love for each other and their family. This time around, however, it was all about making different, better choices. Including trying to convince him, for a change. 

The woman took a seat and indicated Frank to do the same. It all felt too formal, she could not deny that, but she had forgotten to read the part of the manual that indicated how to tell someone the reason you want to train is to avoid your death. “Where should we start? It’s been a while since I’ve done any of this. Can’t say I miss it, truly.” a chuckle escaped her. “Don’t mind the possible damage. I’ll fix it later.” 

—

It had been a few weeks since he had first met Henriette Abbott, and he didn’t forget his promise to help her train. When they had first met, Frank hadn’t yet adjusted to the memories yet, the slow peeling back from what he had known to be true before. It didn’t make him hopeful, and he wasn’t sure how much he could count on this prior information to really help, now that there were paths that continued not to be taken.

He looked skeptically at the sitting room, then took a seat; his wand had stayed in his hand since Apparating to her front door. He didn’t get comfortable; he’d have to stand up later, if they were actually dueling. But there seemed to be no better place that wasn’t so… obvious that this was what he was doing.

Hearing the unlocking of the door’s mechanics, Alastor sucked in a breath, not knowing whom he expected to see first. Perhaps one of the Weasleys - as their entire family accounted for nearly half of the reconstituted Order. Yet, as he saw the familiar face of his protégé, Moody swallowed hard a lump gathering in his throat. When Alastor first started in the Auror program, he made it a point not to get attached to anyone - keeping the cause in mind. It wasn’t until Tonks and Harry Potter that the older member’s heart began to soften, letting them in and coming to care for him. Seeing Frank once more, he was reminded of all those happy moments, before the war took them both in bodies and minds.

“And I’m a_ fairy princess_,” Moody remarked sarcastically, shaking his head, as he got up to greet the other, “Buncha of gowks, if you ask me.” For a moment, Alastor looked over at his once young pupil - a fresh sting of remembering how Moody almost lost him and his wife. Now, they were back with their sanity still intact, and what he assumed, unpleasant memories, “What do you make of all this, Longbottom? Holding yer own?”

—

Frank didn’t know what to make of this, but that was no excuse not to have an answer. This wasn’t official work hours, they weren’t in an office—but Moody was still acting as a superior to him even in this capacity, especially as one of the oldest members of the Order. But Frank had to at least guess.

“I take it Dumbledore isn’t giving us anything?” That would be the first place he’d go for an answer, but he wasn’t entirely sure what Dumbledore and Moody’s relationship really was, or how much information Moody did get from Dumbledore himself either. “Because—it’s not looking good for us. If anything, it’s drawing attention to us—phoenix feathers, especially since—”

Frank rolled his eyes, trying to be nonchalant about this but failing.

“—since we know what we shouldn’t be able to know. Did we keep track of witnesses at all? Maybe we can make a list and figure out if there’s anything important about who saw?”

A perfectly practiced smile appeared on her lips by way of apology right after she’d  turned her attention back to the male figure calling out to her. A bad habit she had acquired over the years, a product of a too-quiet life and the remnant of training in high society manners. Henriette hated having to use it, but it seemed the safest strategy until she knew who was trustworthy and who was not. She could not afford a single mistake this time around, much less something as big as putting fate in the hands of someone other than her husband. 

Her gaze dropped to the bag he held, instantly searching inside the pockets of her coat. Empty. She had been so lost in her own thoughts for her to realize the exact moment she’d lost it.** “This is quite embarrassing, thank you.”** she reached for it. Confused as she was these past few days, it wouldn’t do her any good to be misplacing her belongings all over London. 

**“I seem to have too many ideas in my head to pay attention to, anything else, really.” **why had she felt the need to justify her actions or rather lack of to him, was beyond her. If he had returned her purse that made him half a decent person, right now, that was more than welcome. “I’m Henriette. I don’t think we’ve met before.” she would have recognized him, even under those circumstances.

—

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed. Happens to the best of us.” Frank nodded curtly, as if to acknowledge her politeness. As an Auror, he had been trusted by most of the wizarding community but he wasn’t ever sure how to wield that authority outside of a case. Rarely did he remember what it was like to be Frank Longbottom out of his house with that badge off his chest.

“Best to put a tracking charm on it, if it’s not too much trouble—especially if…” And he trailed off reluctantly, though he was sure he wouldn’t tip his hand in one direction or another if he revealed his hand. “… you have a lot on your mind. It seems to be the case for myself too.”

He held out his hand for her to shake. “Frank Longbottom. If you need any help with anything… strange. Let me know.”

When: January 11th, 1979 Where: The Ministry Who: @frankdavis–longbottom​

Amelia truly felt like she never wanted to step foot in the Ministry again. The frustration and anger that was bubbling up in her every time she walked in was becoming a nuisince. She’d waited all her life to get this job, had been so proud of herself for making it, and now? Now she just wanted to be done with the Ministry for good, because it was nothing but corrupt.

She couldn’t just leave though, that would make things even worse. The people trying to fix this needed to be there, to be trying to thwart whatever stupidity it was those in charge were doing. She couldn’t just stand by and let justice not be served, after all, so she was going to have to suck it up and deal with it. That was making her even more focused on her work.

Though, probably too focused on her work, like the notebook in her hands, and not on where she was walking. She rounded the corner and collided with someone with a thud, grunting and stumbling back in her heels, falling on her ass on the floor. She winced and looked up, offering Frank Longbottom a rather sheepish smile at seeing it was him who she’d run into.

“Sorry, guess I need to get my head out of my notebook when I’m walking around here, huh?” She offered lightly, chuckling to herself and moving to get up off the floor, adding then, “How are you doing?”

—

Frank’s brain felt something like a revolving door. Once he thought to put something away, something else would come out, and it seemed as if all of his worries took turns coming to haunt him. Easy going as he tried to be, it had come to be more complicated considering that he still had to function like he had before.

It was hard not to talk about it, though at this point he was sure that he hadn’t been the only one who had… seen what happens. Or lived what happens. Too vivid to be a dream, but still living here to know if it’s true—

Maybe he should be pacing less often, even as an excuse to get up out of his desk, because no amount of breaks or distractions could get him focusing again, especially considering that he had just bumped into Amelia Bones. He was reminded that she was someone the Aurors needed to have on their side, especially in cases regarding the Death Eaters.

He lent a hand and offered to help her up; he hadn’t lost his balanced enough to be knocked backwards, but his other hand reached out for the notebook. “Yeah, don’t—didn’t your new promotion give you a desk to read from?” Frank chided politely. “But—I’m—I’m fine.”

—

It felt weird, and Alice didn’t like it. She couldn’t recall anything ever being weird or awkward with Frank. Through everything he’d been there. And, these weird memories were showing her that had always been the case, even when she hadn’t been able to remember who he was. That was what she was struggling with the most really. Back here, in 1979, Alice couldn’t ever think of a moment when she wouldnt know who Frank was. But, knowing the future, she hated it.

“You can say that again…” She murmured, offering the coffee to him. She didn’t like how awkward it felt. And, she wondered if Frank remembered? He was acting a little strange after all. But maybe he was just feeling a little unwell after the partying last night. She could remember that they’d drank a lot of champagne. But, it had been new years eve after all.

She sighed, standing next to Frank, and looking out of the window too. It seemed so calm out there. It was quite a contrast to her head right now. Normally she would just enjoy the morning with her husband. Maybe they’d go for a walk in the snow, and generally just enjoy each others company. But, her mind was consumed with all these apparent memories of the future. And she wasn’t sure if they were actually there, or if it was just a huge dream.

“As well as can be expected….” She mused with a shrug. She generally had some issues with sleeping anyway. It was hard to sleep when the war was going on, and attacks were going on everywhere. It was hard to sleep when she thought she should be doing something else. “Oh no no. No hang over for me luckily. How about you dear?”

—

“Coffee’s great,” He repeated, this time with a laugh that sounded more of a sigh. It hadn’t been forced, but there wasn’t any humor in what was on his mind. He didn’t look at Alice either, unsure if this dream had been such a vivid hallucination. “But what do you mean—as well as can be expected?”

He wanted to go on about how it was a new year, how things could be better, or something about resolutions that no one followed anyway. But Frank’s mood lost that cheerfulness from that night before. Frank didn’t want to talk about hangovers.

who: Alastor + Frank where: the order of the phoenix headquarters when: january 16th, 1979

It was the day after the labeled ‘prank’ in Diagon Alley that Alastor found himself within the headquarters of The Order once again. He already put plenty of security measures in place, but this latest event left him reeling. Phoenix feathers, falling from the sky, and softly landing on the doorways of Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and the Ministry alike - before bursting into flames and vanishing from everyone’s sights.

But what does it mean?

Alastor racked around the question in his own mind, pacing the study portion of their home-base. Knowing that most of The Order had returned, with memories intact, Moody suspected many would come looking for answers. Unfortunately, their leader had yet to provide any substantial responses, leaving Moody to be but a shoulder to cry on and lend a hand to those who asked for it. Which was why he sat in a large armchair, waiting, patiently, for anyone who needed someone who understood their troubles; the shared perils; of living another lifetime - suddenly thrown into another where there were even more questions and dangers than they originally thought...

—

It hadn’t been as strange as Frank expected to be in the same secret club as your boss. During war, it seemed that pretty much anything goes, and it hadn’t been a surprise to Frank that Moody had been part of a secret vigilante group for as long as he had been.

But Frank was still terse, unsure, and quite honestly, tired of enough that he feels like he had lived an entire lifetime over again. Except he hadn’t, or if he had, it hadn’t been much long of a lifetime anyway. There seemed no excuse to linger on something that hadn’t happened, but it still gnawed at him to know that he had his son once—twice—or however many times—but it has never been and will never be enough.

He places his files on the table. He knows he’s not supposed to take them from the office, but there was no more efficient way to sort out whether or not they had been tampered. An exhale escapes his lungs, and exasperation settles in the air when he addresses Moody, referencing the new development now: phoenix feathers.

“A prank, huh?”

Every time she closed her eyes, the same scene replayed in her head over and over again. The last moments of his life ran in slow motion as a constant reminder of what would happen if she didn’t start making the necessary changes in her life. Henriette was more than willing to risk everything for her family from that moment on. Only, just considering changing things became terrifying when she stopped to consider the consequences. Hannah wasn’t even born yet, and any misstep would risk her daughter’s future. Was it worth the risk of losing her just to protect her? In what world did that make sense?

The warmth emanating from her cup of hot chocolate was the only thing that kept her aware of her surroundings, preventing her from getting lost among the thousands of possibilities swirling around in her mind.

If she really wanted to make a change, she would have to learn to fight back a lot faster—

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

—

The Leaky Cauldron was, disappointingly, the same. Frank was trying to notice if there was something—anything different that made people act strange. Maybe he hoped that people were acting more strange than he had been. Maybe everyone still felt groggy after the New Year’s festivities, but he wasn’t keen on asking.

Not until he kicked a coin bag a few feet ahead of him. He bent to pick it up, then stepped backwards to the woman in front of a mug of hot chocolate. Even when he tried not to startle her, since she seemed incredibly focused, he had a hard time getting her attention.

But Frank had been much in his own head too, hadn’t he?

“Is this yours?” Frank repeated, holding out the coin bag to her. Sometimes people were clever and wrote their names inside, or put a charm on it that would make it difficult to open the bag. Most of the time, there wasn’t anything important inside worth taking anyway, save for the coins. It would just be easier to return it.

It felt odd being at St. Mungos. He wasn’t sure who he could speak to freely and who he had to pretend that everything was normal to. He just didn’t feel comfortable with any of the things that had been happening lately. He felt like life was all wrong. He hadn’t been sure if he was supposed to show up at work. He hadn’t been sure if not showing up would be more odd though so he had shown up and been put to work as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

His flat smelled like several different kinds of muffins and he had sent several baskets off to the different people he had seen in the past few days with a note demanding them to review the different flavors and return the filled out cards to him. His patients were nothing new to him. He had always enjoyed his work and he felt like it was at least a little bit comforting to be back in a routine. He had yet to let anyone give him an examination though. He just didn’t feel comfortable with the thought of someone prodding at him in this state. 

As he walked down the hallway and ran into Frank he almost stopped in place before moving to where he motioned him. Frank had been one of his best friends and he had yet to see the man. He had missed him. It still felt odd to see him though. “You were looking for me? Are you alright? Let me look you over. I can give you a thorough exam in here.” He nudged him towards an empty room already starting to reach for his wand to give Frank a once over. “Oh. I missed you. I should have started off by saying that.”

—

Frank, in theory, felt like he should have seen Gideon sometime in the last several weeks. Definitely at some point between Christmas and New Years. Somehow that was a far distant memory, and when Gideon said he missed him—it settled in his chest, like he had just let out a breath of relief.

“I missed you too.”

“Yeah, an exam.” Frank answered, as if dazed. It wasn’t what he had come for—the two bottles of butterbeer weighed heavy in his pockets. This wasn’t a routine of his, to bother his friends unexpectedly. Drinks and dinner and debauchery were always something that offset the stress of Order activities.

He knows himself to have changed, but what did Gideon know? There were so few that Frank could trust, and even if Alice knew what had happened, it was difficult to face facts: it was January 1979, but he had lived past January 1979.

But what did you miss about me? Frank couldn’t help but think.

“Things are—er, different. I just don’t feel like myself. If that makes sense. As if—I haven’t seen you in years?”

Where: Longbottoms house

When: 1st January

Who: Alice and @frankdavis–longbottom​

Alice was still feeling confused. The world around her was confusing, and she hadn’t even stepped out of her house yet. At least she recognised that this was her house. The rest of it, was still confusing. She had all these random memories of the future, a future that she really did not want. They were fighting so hard in the war, for Dumbledore, and now she was seeing that it was maybe for nothing. That, she and Frank never got the future that they were fighting so hard for.

The feeling sucked to be honest. She was sat at their kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in one hand, the daily prophet in another. Mostly, she was just trying to work what was going on. Hearing footsteps, Alice looked up, and smiled. “Hi love….” She murmured. “I made you some coffee…” She motioned over to the other steaming mug on the counter, and watched her husband carefully. Did he know? Did he remember? She couldn’t quite tell.

—

Frank had already finished his first cup of coffee, as his eyes were fixed on… nothing in particular. The snow had fallen gently; on any other day he would marvel at how lucky they were if they saw any snowflakes. And so his gaze was towards the window, outside, as if he were frozen in time.

Had he been frozen in time?

His joints felt stiff, as if still waking. He couldn’t just muster the sensation to his age—he still had so much left in him, so much more of a career left.

Or so he thought.

So focused he was on watching the robins outside that he didn’t notice Alcie shuffle out of bed with a second cup of coffee. He glanced over at her, staring as if he didn’t quite remember her right. She looked the same as she had always been, but somehow—maybe—it hadn’t always been like that.

“Coffee’s great,” He replied stiffly. She did know how he liked it, and he couldn’t help but smile at that regardless.

Frank didn’t want to remember.

It was such a strange and vivid dream, but he couldn’t quite shake it. He closed his eyes, letting the cup in his hands be the only thing he felt, it’s heat warming him as he peeled himself from the strings of fate, strand by strand. Something felt off, something felt different, something wasn’t right.

“How did you sleep? Can’t be hungover from all the champagne from last night?”

self-para #01 — 1 January 1979. Longbottom Cottage. (tw torture, loss)

Frank didn’t want to remember.

First, it was a feeling, dreamlike, surreal. He has slipped into life like it were a worn glove, shaking the dregs from the previous evening’s festivities. Drinking glass of champagne after glass of champagne. Kissing his wife at midnight, and kissing her before they fell asleep together, bundled in familiar blankets even as they were greeted by dawn between the sliver in the curtains.

He woke first, shrugging out of the blankets and letting his feet slip into the slippers that guarded him from the cold hardwood, with how he stepped from December into the dim January morning. That by itself had been odd; he didn’t know if it had been December or January at all. It felt as if he were in a dream, losing track of time and place, living the same season over and over, like the sun always set at the same time with the weather hot and stifling—miserably strange against the chill that permeated the kitchen in its silence.

There was that sensation that he couldn’t shake. It felt as if he wasn’t supposed to be here, like the contrast of the marble countertops against the sunlight streaming into the kitchen was too much for his own eyes to look at. He let out a breath, and it was as if the morning coffee he poured for himself was something that he had done… not before.

Not before, but something he had done already.

There was something off about the way he moved. He knew, somehow, the resolution to the case in front of him—the stack of cases in front of him, actually. It felt like swimming, almost, and he fought the current as he decided that today would be a great time to—go elsewhere for the afternoon. The office was beginning to feel stiffer than usual.

Somehow St. Mungo’s became the place he needed to be.

Frank turned at the sound of one of the healers coming down the hall, so instead of checking into the desk with the receptionist—he waved them over instead. In his pockets were two bottles of butterbeer, though what he was hoping to talk about was much more serious than the butterbeer would imply.

“Ah—just the person I was looking for!”